


Exiled FFXV Drabbles: Not Safe For Tumblr

by invisibledeity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Kink, Crossdressing, Edging, M/M, Office Sex, Punishment, Shibari, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 05:10:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17016369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: A new home for the small writing fills I did on tumblr





	1. Worship

 

Prompto kneels on the floor at the end of the bed, resting back on his ankles. Resting, but far from relaxing. With back held erect, hands palm-down upon his thighs, and head cast down, he waits.

         His King stands in front of him, fully dressed while he is shamefully naked. Noctis looks regal, powerful — unforgiving, even — in his royal vestments. Every inch of the tailoring is perfect down to the millimetre. The rich black-and-indigo fabric complements his jet black hair, and the embellishments catch the bedroom lights in small, delicate sparks of gold. The walking cane that accompanies the leg brace is in his grasp, and he taps it on the floor once, twice. Thrice and he drags it now, pulls the metal tip to a stop just before Prompto’s left knee.

         The expression Noctis wears is so severe, that had Prompto not known him so intimately, he’d struggle to see love in that gaze.    

         It turns him on.

     A soft murmur escapes him. Gods, he wants so badly just to move, to break the lack of contact between them. Nothing restrains him but mental bonds. The promise not to touch unless permitted. And he’s so hard already. Noctis had begun the session by lavishing his cock with attention, then breaking off so cruelly at the crucial moment, leaving him in this state.       

         ‘N-noct…’       

         The cane raps sharply across his knuckles and he struggles to not clench his hands into fists with the shock of it.   

         ‘Not “Noct”. Your Majesty.’       

         Prompto gulps. 

         ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ he says.     

         Noctis looks down at him and his mouth is a tight, straight line.

         ‘Now ask me nicely. Convince me.’      

         ‘Please… Your Majesty… please touch me.’ A whimper now. ‘I’ll be good. I-I’ll be real good.’      

         A twist of a smile hides behind Noctis’s face. He loves it when Prompto really begs.           

         ‘Mm. You’re so good, Prom. Eager to serve — that’s what I like to see in a subject.’          

         Noctis is pleased with him, pleased enough to drop the cane (laughing a little as Prompto flinches from the clatter it makes) and fuss his hair softly. And Prompto’s pretty pleased with himself, too. Normally he finds it hard not to slip out of serious mode. The urge to joke around is too strong. But hey, he did it.    

         He shifts his head where Noctis strokes softly, nuzzling into the touch. And now Noctis pulls him closer, presses his face into his thigh. His cheek meets soft well-pressed linen and it’s a godsend after the cold his naked body has been forced to contend with. And Noctis keeps fussing, letting him know it’s all okay, until finally he gets back to business. Hands twist in his hair.         

         ‘On the bed. Now. Let me show you how a king treats his most loyal subjects.’

 

 


	2. Rope Lessons

 

They’re sitting by the water when Prompto broaches the topic.

         ‘Hey, Noct. Can you show me some of those knots?’

         Noctis stops just before he casts the line.

         'Thought you didn’t like to fish?’

         'Yeah well. You know me; I’m up for anything once.’

         So he starts simple, with a reef knot, and Prompto picks this up quickly. Then he shows him the clinch knot, used for attaching a line to a hook. Looping the line around the curved metal of the hook, then looping it multiple times around itself to make a tight, beautiful ribbed texture before tying it off. This one’s a little harder but eventually Prompto masters it, and they catch a Wennath salmon with the knot Prompto’s tied.

         It isn’t until later, when they get to the motel, that he realises the true reason behind Prompto’s request.

         They’ve got the room to themselves. Prompto begins the way they always do, by pushing him down onto the bed with force, and pressing hard kisses along his collarbone, mussing up his hair while he moves up to claim his mouth. Noctis lets himself be manipulated; Prompto is strong and lithe and so fucking hot moving above him like this. He hasn’t removed any clothing, he’s just grinding against him, using the fabric as delicious friction because he knows it gets Noctis hard.

         Things change when Prompto brings out the rope. Noctis isn’t really paying attention, more focussed on the tantalising rubbing between his thighs, that is, until he feels the scratchy texture of hemp around one wrist. Prompto loops the length of rope around, and before Noctis can say anything he’s grabbed his other wrist, and is bringing it up above his head to join the loop. Wide-eyed, Noctis watches those biceps flex as Prompto finishes the tie. The movements are familiar. Clinch knot. Both wrists, attached firmly to the headboard.

         Noctis protests, of course he does, because it’s more fun that way. He whines and squirms, strains his wrists against the tie, feeling for how much slack he’s been given. Not much; just enough to keep the blood flowing, but nowhere near enough to escape. He taught Prompto well.

         'Just gotta check, you okay with this?’ Prompto’s looking at him, concerned, double-checking.

         He blushes. 'Y-yeah, it’s… Perfect, actually.’

         'Thought so.’

         'What do you mean?’

         'You left your phone unlocked the other day. I didn’t mean to see, but what you were looking at, it gave me ideas.’

         He feels his cheeks flush redder, which is ridiculous, because this is Prompto, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

         Satisfied that this is what he wants, Prompto moves in for more. He kisses him, harder than before, relishing the fact that Noctis can’t move away, then he leans back, still straddling him, and starts to unbuckle his own belt.

         'Oh, if only you could see yourself, Noct,’ he purrs. 'You’re so hot when you’re at my mercy.’ He finishes unbuckling himself, freeing his erect cock, devious eyes dancing over Noctis’s prone body.

         Noctis’s tongue feels all thick in his mouth, thinking about what’s to come. Still straddling him, Prompto moves forward until his groin is up close; he’s boxing Noctis in and the scent of pheromones is overpowering. His eyebrows are sharply angled and he looks so perfectly in control as he uses one hand to guide his cock into Noctis’s mouth, the other to grip his chin and force him open.

         'Take it, Noct. Lemme fill you up… Aw yeah…’ Prompto fists his fingers in Noctis’s hair, pulling his mouth onto his cock while he bucks into him. 'You’re so good, baby,’ he croons, in between delightful shudders. 'So good.’

         With his hands tied, and with his torso trapped by Prompto’s thighs pressing either side of his ribcage, Noctis has nowhere to go. He’s not getting out of this, and that knowledge makes him all the harder. He pulls on the rope when Prompto’s cock thickens out, hitting the back of his throat and making him gag. With a knot like this restraining him, it only makes it grow all the tighter. He wonders if it’ll leave marks come morning. He wonders if Prompto will keep him here like this all night.

            Prompto carries on using his mouth for all it’s worth. The ties are so tight and he’s so hard and he just can’t move. Utterly at Prompto’s mercy. He’s gone to goddamned heaven. He may be a king, but when he looks up at the blond angel in the throes of euphoria above him, he knows he was meant to serve.


	3. Mr. Leonis

 

Prompto stands in his boss’s office. He doesn’t know why he’s been called in, but his pulse is racing. Mr. Leonis is an intimidating man, and today his expression is more severe than usual. He stares at Prompto while he sits all judgemental in his leather chair, fountain pen running tap-tap-tap on the smooth mahogany desk. The fact it makes him look even more attractive makes Prompto’s blood burn all the more.

         ‘Argentum, c’m’ere. Look closely at this report. What does it tell you?’

         ‘Uh, well, Mr. Leonis, I…’

         Leonis steeples his fingers. He doesn’t have time for Prompto’s excuses, that much is clear.

         ‘That’s Sir to you. And take a closer look at the report.’

         Prompto peers over cautiously, then looks up at him, because his boss hasn’t bothered to move the paper any closer to him. It’s hard to see what it says.

         ‘Don’t touch the paper. Hands flat on the table. Yes, that’s it, now bring your eyes right up close to the text,’ he says, guiding him. Prompto obeys, but he’s a little confused. Not to mention, Mr. Leonis is looking so intense right now, and it’s making him flush. He’s getting a hard-on and it’s inappropriate as hell. His boss isn’t oblivious to this, and a wry almost-smile crosses those stern lips before he continues. ‘What does it say?’

         ‘Our conversion rate’s down ten percent…’ His nose is close to the paper, so close he can smell the toner. It’s like a frog’s stuck in his throat, because this is within his remit. This is his fault.

         ‘And?’

         ‘Sir?’

         ‘What do you think I should do, Argentum?’

         ‘Well, uh…’ His breath catches in his throat. Leonis seems to notice his discomfort, his excitation, because he stands and moves round the desk.

         ‘Now tell me. How much are you willing to do to put me in a good mood again?’

         ‘A-anything, Sir!’

         A satisfied sigh, then Mr. Leonis grabs his buttock hard, squeezing sensuously before giving it a resounding slap. He shudders out breath, trying hard not to flinch. When that strong body pushes up against him, he can feel his erection, large and hard as rock. Mr. Leonis is going to take him right here, isn’t he? He presses into him harder, sighing and grabbing where he can. Prompto mewls, and bucks into his touch. Now he understands why Leonis booked in a whole hour for this little ‘meeting’.

 


	4. Inspiration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is for the person on Tumblr who kept sending me the "I've come up with a new recipe ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)" ask

 

‘Aw, dude, really?’    

         Prompto’s sitting there not quite believing what he’s hearing. Ignis is nestled between his thighs, blowjob halfway finished, and now, now of all times, is when inspiration has struck him.

         ‘Trust me, Prompto. You will appreciate this one.’ Ignis wipes his mouth and gets up, leaving a very frustrated Prompto squirming away on the sofa. He heads into the kitchen distractedly, listening to some silent instruction in his head, practically mouthing the words, ingredients of whatever he’s come up with now.      

         Prompto huffs. 

         He plays with himself idly, trying not to lose his drive entirely while he waits for his hapless boyfriend to finish up. Ignis’s creative genius always led to delicious things, but at times like this, it was definitely the worst.      

         Ignis forgets to return.        

         Eventually Prompto sighs, and gets up to find out what happened to him. Lost entirely, more a slave to his own imagination than he ever will be to him, and that kind of sucks.     

         When Prompto sees the banana split sitting in the pristine crystal dish on the table, he loses his libido entirely. Can’t fault the presentation, but it looks so thin and in place of thick, fluffy scoops of ice cream he’s used clear sugar glaze, and Prompto’s not sure if he wants to be offended or not. But, well, Ignis seems pretty damn proud of himself, at least he won’t go hungry.

 

 


	5. King's Knight

 

Prompto smiles softly when he slips into the motel room. He lets the lock click loudly, because the satisfaction at seeing Noctis jump is worth it.        

         ‘Any reason why we’re not joining the others?’      

         ‘Didn’t feel like it.’    

         ‘You didn’t feel like it?’ He speaks sharply, too sharply for that angelic face, and it earns him a shy smile. Noctis knows what this means. Prompto strides over, legs all limber and he’s simply itching for some activity, thumbs hooked through the loop of his jeans, fingers drumming out a distracted rhythm.      

         ‘Hands on the armrests. C’mon Noct, now.’  

         Noctis complies hungrily, cock tenting through his slacks. Prompto touches a finger to his own lips, pausing for thought. He stares at his wrist, then grins. Takes off two black bands, leaving one covering his precious tattoo, and wastes no time buckling his prince’s wrists to the chair.     

         He takes off his belt and flicks the buckled end across Noctis’s cheek, taking pleasure in the shallow breaths this creates. Then he changes his mind.       

         ‘Nah. It’s not really punishment if you enjoy it, is it? Sorry, buddy.’  He sits on Noctis’s lap, takes out his phone and starts to play King’s Knight.

 

 


	6. Forty Five Minutes Of Ecstasy

 

It’s been forty five minutes since Gladio left for a drink. He’s been counting. And now Prompto’s sweating from the exertion, the unattended frustration.        

         Nothing more than a ‘Sit tight, sunshine,’ and the big guy had left him tied and spread, a plug in his ass and a gag in his mouth, and little room for purchase in between. He can shift nearly enough to grind the plug around a fraction, but not enough to get off.

         Gods, he’s going to go insane, waiting here like this.

         As the minutes tick by, Prompto blows stray hairs off his cheeks — or tries to, at least — and entertains a number of dark ideas. What if Gladio leaves him here all night? What if Gladio waits until he’s sleeping before he returns to wake him up with eager hands and fervent attentions? Or — and this is perhaps the darkest fantasy he has — what if it’s not Gladio that opens the door at all? A total stranger, maybe even a whole group of them. He wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it, and that sense of helplessness gets his blood going.

         He whimpers under the gag. His cock’s aching, out of reach and out of luck. He’s craving the spotlight to be turned his way again, and — for fuck’s sake, Gladio, how long does it take to do a quick run down the grocery store?

         He must be taking his sweet time on purpose.

         Really, this predicament is Prompto’s fault. He’d dared Gladio to do this. He’d pushed him just that little farther than normal. He’d urged him to take advantage, to _please_ just _punish_ him already. And if there was ever a truth in the world, it was such a foolish idea to dare an Amicitia.

         There’s the sound of wood creaking. Foootsteps outside. Prompto’s pulse quickens and he’s harder than he’s been in years and he wants Gladio to reward him now, swoop in and shower him with rough love. In a burst before his eyes he sees Gladio drive himself deep inside him, hit the spot the plug won’t quite reach, smother him with his hands and tell him he’s been _such_ a good boy. And then, it’s over. The room’s still dark and empty; those footsteps still linger outside.

Fuck, he can’t last any longer like this.

            The handle turns in the door. A small laugh that sounds far too laid-back for the big guy and — Gladio’s really enjoying this edging thing, isn’t he? —a shadow that seems more menacing than usual. Anticipation making him fit to bursting, Prompto steels himself, and waits for his reward.


	7. Waitress

  
‘There’s extra medallions in it if you wear this,’ Weskham had said. ‘We’ll sell more liquor. It’ll do the business good. Not to mention, makes you much easier on the eyes.’

         Tonight’s clientele had very particular tastes, it seemed, because Noctis couldn’t imagine how he’d encourage more patronage otherwise. His eyes were soft and his chin smooth, and yeah, his shoulders were narrow enough, but then so were his hips and that didn’t fit. No matter how he looked at himself, his appearance still screamed _man_.

         Noctis huffed, and readjusted his skirt.

         Saying ‘I’ll do it for Prompto’ was all well and good, but in practice it was harder than he expected. The lace chafed his thighs, the corset was far too tight, and the way the hairband pulled on his scalp was starting to give him a headache.

But the tips were rolling in, and so were the drinks orders. And he didn’t entirely dislike the looks he got from the patrons. Weskham eyeing him from the corner of the bar. The sly old fox.

         Well, he was good at waiting tables. He’d get the damn medallions, and he’d bring back Prompto a souvenir or three from the Carnival.

 


	8. Hanging By A Thread

 

Noctis doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with the position he’s been put in, and, well — good. That’s kind of the point. 

         Prompto grins and says, ‘How’re you doing, babe?’ Traces a finger across Noct’s exposed stomach.         

         An involuntary twitch, and a pout.        

         ‘I can’t…’ He doesn’t finish his sentence, he just tugs on his wrists where the leather straps hold him, arms spread, to the pole. Can’t free himself.   

         ‘Yeah, you’re kind of not meant to.’     

         Noctis can be a real brat sometimes — he strains upward from the bed, trying to steal a kiss, and Prompto has to slam a hand down on the pole to stop him. He’s still able to raise his head up though, and yeah, this isn’t gonna do.        

         Prompto plants a kiss on his forehead, hard and forceful, with the softest, most tender flick of his tongue at the end, and Noct’s eyes flash with anticipation despite the pout he keeps up, while Prompto turns to his box of tricks and returns with a length of leather. It loops through the pole at the back of Noctis’s neck and he pulls it tight enough to elicit a sharp ‘Ah!’ from his captive. Then, loosening with nimble fingers, just enough to allow for easy breaths, he finishes securing the collar.      

         Another strap slips round the pole, securing Noctis to the bed. He’s left squirming, legs free and eyes searching Prompto’s for relief, for kindness. At any rate, he can’t strain his neck up any longer, although he tries, and fuck, he’s so cute.      

         Prompto kisses him hard once again, then pushes his hand into his face, messily, almost uncaring. It hurts, and Noctis utters a muffled ‘Mmph!’ 

         Then he slides off the bed, and walks away.   

         ‘Damn it, Prom, where’re you going?’  

         ‘Eh, I’m thirsty.’        

         ‘Wait, what? Prompto. Prompto! Come on, man!’   

         Prompto’s not planning on leaving him long, but he’s sure as hell enjoying the peril evident in Noct’s voice. Hasn’t heard a whisper of a safeword yet, so as he casually fetches a glass of juice from the fridge, listening to Noctis’s worried fretting next door, he smirks to himself and thinks _damn, I really should do this more often._

 

 


End file.
